Page 39 of The Last Library of Paris

‘Urgh,’ I said. ‘I’ll warn her.’

‘I would.’

We carried on with our work, chatting about this and that. But my mind was racing. I wondered if Steven Parrish was one of the many, many people in Lisbon who took rumours and gossip to the PVDE in exchange for money.

Though if he had known about Bea and Lara helping with the Portuguese paperwork, surely something would have happened by now? A visit from a PVDE officer, perhaps.

And if Parrish had been hanging around and not found any evidence of what they were up to, perhaps he wasn’t very good at being an informant after all. That thought comforted me a little. Plus, of course, it was all done now. That chapter was closed, though if I had my way a new one was about to begin.

Spending the afternoon filing let me think about how to put my own visa plan into action. The first thing I needed to do was to get the people back in Britain to help. And I was going to start with my own parents.

So, at the end of the day, I headed to Digby’s office.

The Portuguese telephone system was surprisingly good, but we didn’t have phones in every office in the embassy. Clerical had them, and Edith’s department had them, but they also had lots of staff milling about at all hours of the day – including Parrish.

As I’d hoped, when I caught Digby, he was just getting ready to leave for the day.

‘Not yet,’ he said before I could even say hello.

‘I know.’ I made a face at him. ‘I wasn’t even going to ask about going back to work.’

‘Really?’

‘No.’ I tried to look as if I didn’t care either way. ‘I’ve barely thought about it, actually.’

Digby gave me a disbelieving glance.

‘I actually just wanted to use your telephone,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I’d like to check in with my parents. Make sure they’re doing all right.’

‘Of course,’ Digby said, as I’d known he would. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Don’t let me keep you,’ I said, hoping Digby would leave. It would be hard to explain what we were doing if he was still lurking in his office.

Slowly, I dialled the number, watching Digby gather his belongings in an infuriatingly methodical fashion.

‘Hello, Dad!’ I trilled when he answered.

My father sounded so pleased to hear from me that I felt tears spring into my eyes.

‘Cassandra,’ he said. ‘What a treat.’

‘It’s good to hear your voice,’ I said truthfully, sinking down into Digby’s chair.

‘And yours.’

‘Do you have time to chat?’

‘Always,’ he said. ‘What are you up to? Settling back into Portuguese life?’

‘The weather’s a lot better here than at home,’ I said.

‘I’m sure.’

See you tomorrow, Digby mouthed. I gave him a wave.

‘How’s Mum?’ I asked Dad.

‘Up and down.’